


True Love, Actually

by nothingeverlost



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Christmas, F/F, F/M, Gen, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-12-14
Updated: 2012-12-26
Packaged: 2017-11-21 02:37:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/592501
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nothingeverlost/pseuds/nothingeverlost
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>True Love comes in unexpected packages.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Closing Time

**Author's Note:**

> Author’s Note: I had two requests for a Love, Actually AU fic. Here’s the start. I promise it’s not all going to be angst. Thanks to andacoupletshort and realityisavariable for the ideas and papplemice for the title.

The church was full. Emma forgot to breathe as she peeked through the side door. She hadn’t know Neal had so many friends. He didn’t have any family, save for the boy sitting in the front pew almost motionless. They’d shared that, being orphans. It had been the first thing to bind them together.

Now Henry was an orphan as well.

“I can’t do this.” She closed the door and leaned against the wall. The tears she’d been fighting for days now threatened once again. Damn it, she would not go out there with red eyes.

“They’re all here to support you, Emma.” Mary Margaret squeezed her best friend’s arm. Unlike Emma she let her tears fall. Her heart was breaking for Emma and Henry.

“It isn’t fair. We were good, you know? I’ve never had anything so good for me as Neal and Henry. I was figuring it out; wife and step-mom and being a family, and then… I can’t do this. Henry and I have a friend kind of thing happening, but I’m not his mom. I don’t know how to be a mom.” Emma resisted the urge to look out at the sea of black again. She knew Henry was safe; Mary Margaret’s husband sat at his side. He liked David; they’d bonded over mock battles plotted out with toy knights. The pew on the other side of him was empty. Her place. Once she sat there it would all be real, and she wouldn’t be able to avoid looking at the coffin that held Neal’s remains.

She wanted to run.

“You’ll learn, Emma. No one knows how to be a parent right away. Neal didn’t know from the start, I’m sure, and look how good he was with Henry.” She looked away, pretending interest in the cuff of her dress.

“What?” Mary Margaret wore her emotions close to the surface, and Emma was glad of anything that wasn’t her own grief.

“Nothing. It’s nothing, really. This is your day.”

“I hate this fucking day. I wish it was over.” The day Neal had died, his body too frail to take in another breath, had been worse but not by much. “I’ve leaned on you enough lately. Lean on me.”

“You barely let us help you at all, sweetie.” Mary Margaret sighed, and took in a breath. “It’s just… I was late this month. Two days. And I thought maybe this time…”

“I’m so sorry.” It wasn’t always easy, for Emma to initiate hugs, but there were a few people she really tried for. Mary Margaret was one of the few. “It will happen for you guys. I know it will. You and David are meant to be parents and I…”

“He loves you, Emma. He was so excited when you and Neal got married. The rest of it, you’ll figure out, but what matters is that you have that love. And both of you love Neal.”

“Loved.” Emma corrected as she tugged on the door. Waiting was only going to make the day longer. “Neal’s not here anymore.”

II

The service was mercifully short. Emma sat in the front row with Mary Margaret on one side of her and Henry on the other. She did not cry. Neither did Henry. It wasn’t until the Minister gave her a nod that she felt the acid in her stomach again. She didn’t want to be here. She didn’t want to do this.

“You’ll be alright with David and Mary Margaret?” she whispered to the boy at her side. He reached out and squeezed her hand; it was the closest her tears had come to escaping.

“It’s what dad wanted.” He managed a hint of a smile, and he looked so much like his father that it was a physical pain.

“Yeah, it was.” She stood, and made her way carefully to the podium. It wasn’t until she was facing the room that she realized Ruby and her grandmother had been sitting behind her the whole time. There were others in the crowd that she knew, but she couldn’t spare them a glance. She needed to focus on making it through just five more minutes.

“Neal likes to say…” Her voice caught, and she cleared her throat to start again. 

“Neal used to say that it sucked, knowing that people were going to be at this party celebrating his life and he didn’t get an invite. He said that if he didn’t get to come, at least he could help plan it. He also said that I should find a cute guy with an accent to bring as my date. He’s going to have to forgive me that one.” There were a few sympathetic laughs, flat and false sounding. They hurt her ears.

“He helped plan the menu for the barbeque. We hope you’ll all stay to enjoy, and remember that if you have any complaints he’s the one to talk to.” She pointed at the casket, and for a moment almost expected him to pop out and laugh, saying it was a joke. He’d loved jokes, and had played more than a few on her, often with Henry’s help.

“The food isn’t the only thing he wanted a say in. This next part…” She was blinded for a moment, as the projector turned on and the screen behind her was no longer blank. When she looked over her shoulder there was an image of her, Neal and Henry sitting on on the edge of a swimming pool, their legs dangling in the water. Her family.

“Neal loved music. He had playlists on his ipod for every occasion. My favorites were the Henry’s bedtime story playlist and the Neal washes the dishes playlist.” She hated washing the dishes, but loved watching him. And sometimes he would pause, hands still wet, and spin her around the kitchen in a dance. She never cared about the back of her shirts getting wet.

“There’s only one song on this playlist, but it’s the one he wanted to share with you today. Neal, you made me promise and here it is.” She stood, frozen, as the first strains started to play, guitar and piano. He had played both. She wondered if Henry would want music lessons, now that Neal wasn’t around to teach him anymore.

Emma waited, as pictures flickered on the screen, of Neal, Henry, and herself. She waited as David and five other friends picked up the casket and walked down the aisle, carrying Neal away. She waited with her eyes on the boy that sat in the front pew. An orphan now, except that he had her. And she loved him, as much as she had loved his father. She held out her hand, just a little, not enough that anyone else would notice. Henry did. He left Mary Margaret sitting alone and joined Emma at the front of the church. They held hands as the final chorus played of the last song Neal would ever chose for them.

I know who I want to take me home.   
I know who I want to take me home.   
I know who I want to take me home.   
Take me home  
Closing time   
Every new beginning comes from some other beginning’s end


	2. Moving Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "This is home, Bae. I know things are going to be different, but that doesn’t change."

“Who are you calling?” Bae looked away from the window for a moment when he realized that his dad wasn’t paying any attention to the masses of people lined up on the streets. The closer they got to their new home, the bigger the crowds were. Some carried signs; it was really weird to see random strangers proclaiming their love for his dad.

“Your aunt. She’s been ignoring her texts.” Rumford ‘Rum’ Gold was dressed in charcoal gray, the dark red tie his only spot of colour. By tonight, no doubt, there would be a detailed review of what he wore; the country had a love affair with the newly elected PM’s fashion sense. Bae loved to read the reviews and tease his dad about his ‘debonair style reminiscent of golden Hollywood.’ Gold just rolled his eyes and threatened to limit his internet if he didn’t use it for better things than mocking his parent. Bae’s own style ran to jeans and t-shirts; since there were going to be a million pictures of their arrival at Number 10 he’d elected to wear a pair of jeans that didn’t have holes in them, and a football jersey.

“She’s at the funeral, remember? Her friend’s husband died.” His dad was usually better at remembering things like that, but this last week had been a crazy one even with Dove organizing all the practical stuff related to moving from the house they’d lived in since Bae was four and into the most recognized address in England.

“That would explain things.” He slipped his phone back into his pocket. “We’ll give her a ring tonight to let her know we’re settled.”

“We can have Aunt Mary Margaret and Uncle David over for dinner Sunday, right? I mean, we can still do that here, can’t we?” With the election and the celebrations and everything there had been little time to talk about the practicalities what it would be like to live on Downing Street.

“This is home, Bae. I know things are going to be different, but that doesn’t change. It’s our home, and that means inviting friends over and family dinners on Sundays and keeping your room clean. Just don’t play football in the offices, alright?” Rum reached across the limo seat to tousle his son’s hair, and received an increasingly rare hug; Bae was, after all, fourteen and struggling to be ‘cool’ and ‘adult.’

Of course that was the moment the limo stopped and the door was open. Camera’s flashed almost immediately, catching the hug. Bae was mortified and slipped on his sunglasses before getting out of the limo. Rum laughed, and waved with his free hand as he stood at the door of their new residence.

II

“Would you like to meet your new staff?” Rum had almost an hour in the residence before he was summoned down to the offices. Since Bae was content organizing the posters in his room, and muttered something about being ‘so embarrassed’ at school on Monday when he’d popped his head into the room, Rum didn’t mind the idea of getting straight to work. After all, that was what he’d been elected for.

“I think I can spare a few minutes before getting down to the business of ruling the country.” He’d walked these halls before, of course, but always as a visitor. This was his first time in the offices at 10 Downing as the Prime Minister.

“Oh, were you planning on doing that? I thought you were just here to look pretty.” Jefferson, his Chief of Staff, smirked at him. More than twenty years of friendship and a decade of working together meant a complete lack of formality between them, unless other people were around. Jefferson could have been an actor if he’d wanted to; the moment anyone else appeared he was the picture of deference and respect. Not that he didn’t respect his friend; he just had an odd way of showing it.

“I’m not the one with the fan club, dearie.” It amused him greatly, when Bae had found the sites. “The Hottie Hatters; quite an interesting collection you have.”

“You’re just jealous, Rum.” Once they stepped into the office, though, Jefferson was all business. There was the household staff first; a cook, housekeeper, maid. Normally there’d be a chauffeur, but he’d insisted on Dove filling that role. The man had been in his employee since the first time someone had tried to kill him, back in the late eighties. He was bodyguard, chauffeur, handyman, babysitter when Bae had been younger, football coach now that Bae was older and obsessed with the sport, and other than his sister and her husband the closest thing to family he and Bae had.

The office staff was, for the most part, familiar to Gold. They’d kept on as much of their old staff as they could. It was only the woman at the desk outside his office that was new. “Prime Minister, your new PA Belle French.”

“Ms. French.” Gold held out his hand. The woman, small enough to make even him feel tall, reached out to shake his hand. And knocked a mug off the desk, spilling liquid onto the carpet and splattering his shoe.

“Shit, I’m sorry. I knew I was going to do something like that. I’m clumsy when I’m nervous.” She didn’t look at him at all, instead kneeling on the floor and attempting to clean up the mess starting with his shoe.

“It’s not the most conventional first cup of coffee I’ve had, but there’s no damage. It’s just a spill.” It was only when she looked up at him that he noticed her eyes were blue. She was also wearing a shirt that gaped open and offered him a rather interesting view.

“Tea. It was... I was drinking tea. But I can get you coffee, if you like. Or tea. Or maybe you don’t drink?” She stood, clutching the mug in one hand and still not quite looking at him.

“Tea, with honey when you have a chance, dearie. Then we have some letters to write, calls to make, and the invasion of a small island nation to plot.” She almost dropped the mug again. He waved his finger at her. “That last was a quip.”

“Yes, sir. I understand. I’m sorry about the tea. And the swearing.” 

“It’s fine, Ms. French.” He dismissed her without another thought, as he and Jefferson walked into the office and closed the door.

“A bit high strung, that one,” Gold commented.

“Changes can be made if she doesn’t suit, but she comes highly recommended. Give the poor girl a couple of days; she’s probably just overwhelmed by the beauty of yours truly.” Jefferson leaned against the edge of the massive oak desk.

“I think you mean the insanity, Jefferson. you can’t keep that tucked away for long.” Gold slipped into the leather seat behind his new desk, and leaned his cane against the wood where it was in easy reach but out of the way. “So what’s first?”


	3. Love Song

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A wedding

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t talk him into something more traditional. It’s your wedding day.” Aurora spared a glance at her maid of honor, Ashley, who shrugged her shoulders slightly. They’d both heard the complaint before.

“It’s his wedding too, mother,” she pointed out, though she knew it was pointless. It had been hard enough to deal with explaining to her mother that she and Philip were only having one attendant apice, rather than the wedding party of fourteen that her mother had envisioned. A perfect society wife, attending two and three functions a week, Aurora’s mother had never understood that the limelight wasn’t a place Aurora found comfortable.

“But a woman as his best _man_?”

“She’s his best friend.” Which Aurora still didn’t understand, after over two years. Philip was so gentle and kind. He loved to laugh and smile. For all that his family was worth millions he was most comfortable in jeans and jerseys, sitting in a bookstore or bar. On the other hand she could probably count the number of times she’d seen Mulan Fa smile on her hands. The first few times they’d met Aurora had all but shivered from the ice she felt. And while Philip was beer and football, Mulan was wine and gallery exhibitions. They’d known each other since childhood, but how they’d remained so close was still a mystery to Aurora.

“It’s going to ruin the photos,” her mother clucked.

Aurora looked down at the skirt of her dress. Silly her, thinking that the wedding photos, and wedding itself, was about her love for Philip, and his for her.

She’d never understand her mother.

“It’s time.” It was Ashley who noticed the faint strains of organ music, and her friend, not her mother, who kissed her cheek and lowered the veil over Aurora’s face. “Meet you at the end of the aisle.”

“Thank you, sweetie.” She watched as Ashley, dressed in the same ice blue as Philip and Mulan’s vests, started down the aisle. Her mother gave her a hug that was not at all comforting before leaving to find her seat. ‘For heaven’s sake don’t walk too fast and don’t trip,’ was her last bit of advice. 

Aurora closed her eyes and counted to five, took a deep breath and stepped into the church. Ashley waited on one side, Mulan on the other, but Aurora barely noticed. Once she saw Philip looking back at her nothing else mattered.

II

“I love you, Mr. Perrault.” As other couples joined them on the dance floor, Aurora felt like she could relax a little, and rest her head on her new husband’s shoulder.

“Not as much as I love you, Mrs. Perrault.” As Philip’s lips brushed against her forehead, Aurora felt a shiver travel down her spine. Mrs. Perrault. She was Mrs. Aurora Perrault, wife of Philip Perrault. She was getting the fairy tale she’d always wished for.

“This next song, ladies and gentleman, is a very special request. To Philip and Aurora, with all the best wishes on their wedding day.” As the DJ’s words faded, the familiar strains of music began. 

“I feel it in my finger, I feel it in my toes...”

“Did you do this?” she asked her new husband. She couldn’t think of who else knew about the song she’d played on repeat for most of high school, unless it was Ashley.

“Not me, love, but you might want to open your eyes.” He’d stopped moving, for some reason.

“I like it right here.” She couldn’t imagine anything more perfect than the dreamlike moment of dancing with Philip to the song she’d once listened to as she daydreamed about the man she would one day marry.

“You’re not going to want to miss this, darling.” She could almost feel his smile. Curious, she opened her eyes. And almost screamed.

“That’s...” She closed her eyes and opened them again, but nothing had changed. The song wasn’t coming from an album, but a man, standing on stage with a microphone. 

“Philip, that’s Victor Whale. _The_ Victor Whale.” His posters had graced the walls of her bedroom for a brief time, until her mother declared them ‘inelegant’ and had them taken down by the maids. Aurora had saved one and pinned it inside her closer. “How did you do this?”

“I’m as surprised as you are.” Her husband was a terrible liar, so she knew it couldn’t have been him. She didn’t have a clue who else would arrange it, though. “Kind of a cheesy song, isn’t it?”

“It is written on the wind, That's everywhere I go, So if you really love me, Come on and let it show.”

Aurora watched the man singing; she’d had such a crush on him once, but it was the stuff of a silly girl’s dreams. It was nothing compared to what she felt for Philip. “I think it’s the perfect song.”

And then, not caring how many people were watching, Aurora did as the song suggested and showed Philip how much she loved him with a kiss that was not quite chaste.


	4. The Office Pool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hated to think of himself as someone who ogled; Ruby deserved better than that.

Archie ran into a door on his way back from lunch. To be fair, the door was a glass one and it was standing open, but the three people walking down the hall ahead of him had managed to step clear of it. One of those people, though, in fact the one right in front of him, had been Ruby Lucas. Ruby, who had dropped a stack of papers and had bent to pick them up, her already short skirt riding up a little higher.

He hadn’t meant to look. Really he hadn’t. He hated to think of himself as someone who ogled; Ruby deserved better than that.

“Regina, could you find us some Kleenex, please?” David Nolan was the one who helped him up, leading him across the hall to his office and making him sit down with his head tilted back. Apparently his nose was bleeding.

“It’s nothing. I just wasn’t paying attention to where I was going.” He tried to get up, embarrassed, but David held him firm with a hand on his shoulder.

“You’re going to get blood on your tie if you’re not careful.” From the corner of his eye, Archie could see Nolan’s secretary carrying a box of tissues. She didn’t bother looking at him at all, her attention only focused on the other man. Archie frowned a little; something about the somewhat recent hire always made him think of a panther, stalking its prey.

“Is there anything else you need, Mr. Nolan?” She asked as she held out the requested tissues. And though Archie had never seen her even falter in her four inch heels, she seemed to have trouble balancing. Convenient, that the closest thing to lean on was David Nolan’s shoulder.

“I think we’re good here, thank you.” David took half a dozen Kleenex and pressed them against Archie’s nose to blot up the blood. 

“If you change your mind you know where to find me, sir.” Archie could only see part of her smile, but there didn’t seem anything warm about it. Not like when Ruby smiled. “And don’t forget that Mrs. Hatter is coming in half an hour. She wants to get the last of the paperwork taken care of as soon as possible, to make sure the divorce is finalized before she and her daughter leave for America.”

“I hate cases when there’s a kid involved,” David said with a sigh. “Somehow it makes it even worse.”

“I wouldn’t know. I like to keep things simple; no kids, no weddings, just lots of fun in and out of the bedroom. And every other room of the house.” Regina’s hand brushed against David’s shoulder as she left the room. The smell of her apple scented perfume lingered behind; even though the Kleenex Archie would swear that he could still smell it.

“She’s not shy, is she?” he commented for the lack of anything better to say.

“Rather your opposite, in that respect.” David peeled away the tissues, and seemed satisfied with what he saw. “Try leaning forward, but slowly. I think it’s stopped.”

“I don’t understand what you mean. About being her opposite.” Without the tissues he could smell the blood now, the metallic scent not pleasant. Hopefully washing his face would help.

“How long has Ruby worked here?” 

The seeming change in topic threw Archie. “Four years, this coming March.”

“And how long have you been in love with her?” Some might think that the casual way he asked the question mean that he was inquiring about something no more important than the weather. Archie had known the other man for almost a decade, though, and knew when he was trying to lead a client, or friend, around to a particular conclusion.

“I...” But there wasn’t a point in lying, really. He’d never planned on saying anything about it, but that didn’t make the feeling any less real and it felt like a lie to deny it. “A month or so after she started working here. Almost four years.”

“You should say something to her.” David’s smile was a wistful one. “Rather than taking it out on the poor doors around here.”

“I wouldn’t. I can’t. She’s... I mean I’m... and in the workplace. A level of professionalism should be... don’t you think?” He knew his face had to be approaching the same color as his hair. At least if would camouflage any blood still on his upper lip. “You don’t think she knows, do you?”

“Arch, I think everyone in the office knows. You’re a wear-your-emotions-on-your-sleeve kind of guy.”

“Oh, this is bad. This is very bad.” he buried his face in his hands, not caring if the pressure made his nose start bleeding again. “What am I going to do?”

“My suggestion? Invite her out for drinks. And if there’s an opening in the conversation where it feels right to mention that you want to marry her and father lots of red headed little babies don’t let it go to waste.” Archie looked up at that, and though David was laughing there was something else there. He made a mental note to find out, soon, what was bothering his friend. Unless the ground was obliging and swallowed him up in the next five minutes. “You’re not her direct superior, Archie. There’s nothing unethical about it.”

“She’s beautiful.” And kind, sweet, thoughtful, smart and clever. And beautiful.

“She likes you. And it’s Christmas time.” David stood a moment after Archie did, and went over to open the door. “If you’re not going to do it for you, at least do it for the rest of us. Far too much company time is being spent on the office pool to bet when you two will finally do something about this.”

“Please, tell me there’s not really an office pool.” Archie almost ran into a second door.

“There might be, if you don’t hurry up and ask her out. You’ve got until New Year’s.” David patted him on his back as he walked out into the hall. Coincidentally Ruby was waiting to come in to see him.

“Hi Archie,” she said with her usual cheerful smile.

“Hi Ruby,” he managed to choke out before hurrying off as if he had something more pressing to do than finding a place to hide.

This was terrible.


	5. Seeking Sanctuary

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She’d been Sister Mary Estella for most of her adult life. Now she was just Astrid again, and the name felt strange when she said it aloud.

Astrid Nova had decided, while sitting in Religious Studies class at the age of nine, what she was meant to do with her life. From that point on she never strayed from her path, becoming a postulant at eighteen, a novice at nineteen, and celebrating her twenty-first birthday by accepting a black habit instead of her white one. She’d been Sister Mary Estella for most of her adult life.

Now she was just Astrid again, and the name felt strange when she said it aloud. “I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now.”

“I don’t understand how this happened. I know your order is closing, but isn’t there another one?” Belle handed her friend a mug of tea before joining her on the couch. They’d gone to school together from the age of seven, when Belle and her father had arrived from Australia, and had managed to stay friends despite very different life choices.

“Mother Superior said that she wasn’t able to find places for everyone. And of course the older Sisters needed homes more than I did.” She barely felt the warmth of the tea in her hand. She’d been numb since she’d been called before Mother Superior the day before, to be informed that it could be almost a year before there was an opening in a convent for her, and that she’d need to find her own way in the world until then.

“I bet Mother Superior found a home for herself,” Belle snorted. She’d only met the woman a few times, but her opinion was not a favorable one.

“She has to make sure everyone is comfortable and settled, sweetie. It only makes sense that she goes with them.” She tried to smile, hoping for the peace that was momentarily elusive. “She said it might be good for me, to live in the world for a little while. I was so young when I entered the convent.”

“You’ve always known what you wanted to do. You’ve helped so many people. And you’ll find a way to do it now, too. Have you thought about maybe doing some writing? The children always loved your stories.” Belle rested a gentle hand on her arm, the crease between her eyebrows on Astrid’s behalf, rather than her own as it had been this past week. She wasn’t at all sure where she stood with the new Prime Minister. Sometimes she thought she should be updating her resume, but then she would catch him watching her and she thought he might actually approve of the way she was doing her job.

“Mother Superior always said that they were nonsense, and there was no reason to embellish the scripture.” She’d written stories, once, during her free time. Astrid didn’t quite remember when she’d stopped.

“Mother Superior can go…” Belle stopped herself just in time. Astrid was uncomfortable both around swearing and anything negative about her fellow nuns. “…read whatever scriptures she likes. I’ve seen you telling your stories. The children love them. I bet you could even get them published.”

“I have to get a real job. I don’t have a place to live, remember?” She’d gone from her parent’s house to the convent; it had never struck her as strange that she hadn’t lived on her own. Not until now, facing it for the first time at twenty-six.

“You could stay here,” Belle suggested, though the one bedroom flat as a small one. Astrid shook her head at the suggestion. “Or at the cabin, at least until you decide what you want to do. Dad never goes up there anymore. In fact you would be doing us a favour; I know there’s repairs that need to be made, and you can make a list and be the contact person for the handyman. There’s this guy I know; kind of keeps to himself but he’s a sweetheart when you get to know him. What do you think?”

“I’d really be helping?” A little spark of hope kindled inside of her. She needed to be helpful. It’s the things she knew best about herself; how to help other people.

“Huge help. With this new job I don’t know when I’m going to be able to go check out the place, and dad’s arthritis is starting to get bad. He might insist on going out alone, and I’d hate that, you know?” It wasn’t a complete lie. Her dad’s arthritis was bad and he did get stubborn about doing things on his own. She didn’t have to mention that he’d already told her he wasn’t going to the cabin this winter. “What do you say?”

“I say that you’re a blessing, Belle, and doing the work of the angels.”

II

The kitchen sink was dripping, and there was a draft coming in from somewhere. The first day Astrid was at the cabin she worked on a list of things that needed repaired. She also made a list of things she knew how to do and chores she’d been responsible for at the convent. Astrid was fond of lists. Reading the second two lists didn’t give her any ideas, though, about what she could do to support herself. She set them aside and picked up her Bible, taking comfort in the words of the book of Matthew. ‘Does not the soul mean more than food and the body than clothing? Observe intently the birds of heaven, because they do not sow seed or reap or gather into storehouses; still your heavenly Father feeds them.’

She had a purpose, and though she might not understand, God did. She needed to have faith in that. Silently she closed the book and prepared for bed. She was so lucky to have a friend like Belle. She had been the only one never to question Astrid’s choice, to support her completely and still remain her friend though it was difficult to find time to spend together. Sometimes it felt like Belle knew what she needed before she herself had figured it out. When she’d helped pack up Astrid’s meager belongings before driving her to the train station not only had she included some of her own clothing, but a typewriter in a case and a ream of paper. ‘Just think about it,’ she’d said. 

Astrid fell asleep her first night in the cabin thinking about writing a book, and woke not long after the sun rose. She had the most delightful idea for a story about a sad little fairy in her head, and scribbled down a few thoughts before she lost them. Her main reason for staying at the cabin was to make sure things got fixed, though, so the story would have to wait. Breakfast came first, and then a walk through the woods guided by the hand drawn map Belle had made for her. It led to a cabin that was at first glance no different than any other. A moment’s observation led Astrid to notice the hand carved gingerbread detail along the roof, the leaves carved into the front door, and the fact that the railing around the front porch was actually a series of birds against a background of clouds. She spent so long looking at that she didn’t notice the front door had opened.

“What the hell do you want?” Dressed in a red plaid shirt and jeans, the bearded man on the front porch was scowling at her. Astrid wasn’t used to that; people didn’t usually scowl at nuns.

“Sorry.” She both spoke and rubbed her fist in a circle over her heart. She didn’t know very many signs, but ‘sorry’ was one she’s picked up.

“Not interested in your apologies, sister. More interested in you getting off my property. This isn’t part of any damn hiking trail.” His speech was clear. Belle had mentioned that he’d only lost his hearing a decade ago, in some kind of mining accident. Somehow she’d expected him to be quieter; it was another lesson in not making assumptions.

“Belle sent me.” She had to whisper a prayer before she found the courage to walk forward, hand outstretched with both the list of things that needed fixed and the note Belle had written to the handyman. ‘Leroy’ was written on the envelope, but it seemed impolite to call him by name unless he wanted to introduce himself.

“Better not be selling anything,” he muttered as he accepted the papers. A minute after he tore open the envelope he jerked his head towards the cabin. “I’m not done with my breakfast. You can come in and have coffee or you can wait out here until I’m done. Your choice.”

He didn’t actually ask her inside, and didn’t wait to see if she had any questions. For a moment Astrid waited, trying to decide what she should do. It was chilly still, so early, and he’d mentioned coffee. Maybe she’d be able to introduce herself, if they were both sitting at a table and facing each other.

Astrid followed him inside.


	6. Teatime

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Grace.” Jefferson Hatter was out of his chair instantly, and halfway across the room before his daughter peeked around the corner.

Belle had many expectations when she’d started her new job. She’d expected long hours and hard work. She’d expected to feel nervous around her new boss; after all he was both on Forbe’s list of most powerful people in the world and Tatler’s most eligible bachelors in the UK. And since she’d seen him speaking live, and like everyone else in the room hadn’t been able to take her eyes off him, she’d even expected the attraction that made her stomach flutter. What she hadn’t expected until she’d started working for him was the concern.

It started with his forearms. Prime Minister Gold had a habit of rolling up his sleeves and delving into the never ending pile of papers on his desk. The first time Belle had walked into the office to find him reading a report, elbow propped on the table and fingers absently moving she’d had a hard time not staring at the sinewing muscles just under his skin as they moved. The second time she spent almost a whole minute before he caught her, causing her to flush pink. Her recent boyfriend, now ex, had been too heavily muscled for her taste. His muscles bulged. Gold’s muscles were much like his voice; powerful, but a subtle power that snuck up on you, not ones that hit you over the head and demanded notice.

The third time Belle saw his arms rolled up she’d been his PA for four days, and it struck her that there was not a bit of fat between his muscles and skin. She’d known that he was thin, but now that she’d had time to observe him she worried that he might be a little too thin. He was teeming with energy; other than the obvious with his knee there was nothing to point out the fact that he was anything other than perfectly healthy, but he didn’t have an ounce of weight to spare. Belle wondered how easily she’d be able to count his ribs if he had his shirt off. And then she wondered what it would be like to have his shirt off, which was probably a bad idea since he was her boss and the leader of the country.

Mrs. Potts, who ran the kitchen for the residence but also saw to it that there was tea time for the staff in the office, was reluctant to say anything about Gold’s eating habits until Belle mentioned the fact that she’d yet to see Gold eat lunch. “‘I’ll just have cereal,’ that one tells me every morning. And not a real cereal, like porridge. No, something out of a box with milk poured over it. Bad example for the boy, but at least Bae will eat some fruit when I put it on his plate. He always eats dinner with his son, but that’s one meal a day.”

“He ate the chocolate biscuits I put on his tea tray yesterday. Perhaps we can figure out a way to get him to snack throughout the day, on something healthier?” Belle made the suggestion, and as easy as that a friendship was born, along with a plan of attack. Belle brought tea into Gold’s office at least three times a day, and always there was something to eat. It might be fruit, or a miniature mincemeat pie, or vegetables cut up. Sometimes the plate came back untouched, but just as often some or all of the food was gone. Belle counted that as a victory.

“Trouble counting today, dearie?” Gold asked when she carried his tea into the office. It was blueberry tarts today, still warm from the oven. The tray had three cups on it.

“Mr. Hatter has company, sir, who would like to join you for tea.”

“It’s Jefferson, please. All this ‘mister’ business makes me feel old.” It wasn’t the first time Jefferson Hatter had invited her to call him by name. She nodded, even as she knew that she’d forget again; it felt too strange considering who he was. “I’m not sure I have time to see anyone before this afternoon, though. Can’t whoever it is wait?”

“I’m not sure that you’d want her to, si… Jefferson. I think she’s already missing some of her classes to be here.” After all, it was only lunchtime and the girl was wearing a school uniform.

“Grace.” Jefferson Hatter was out of his chair instantly, and halfway across the room before his daughter peeked around the corner.

“You’re not mad, are you papa?” The girl looked worried for a moment, before she was scooped up and spun around the room.

“Never at you, my little dormouse.” The smile he wore was unlike any Belle had seen from him, either in person or in photographs. And she’d seen a lot of photographs; the media adored ‘the man behind the Minister.’ It didn’t hurt that he was much more patient with the media than Gold, and much more willing to stop and smile at the camera. The smile he wore now, though, wasn’t cocky or polished. It softened his face and lit up his eyes.

“Not even if I snuck out of school to come here?” She was adorable, the young girl looking so earnest as she stood looking up at her father. “I missed you.”

“I miss you too, baby. But we’re going to have to talk about that.”

“Right about now he’s imagining every bad thing that could have happened between school and here,” Gold muttered. He’d been watching them as intently as she had. He was also licking the crumbs of a blueberry tart off his lips. Belle tried not to smile in victory. She also tried not to stare at the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth. 

“Speaking from experience?” Belle asked softly.

“I didn’t have to worry; I had Dove taking him to and from school.” Gold shrugged a little when Jefferson and his daughter walked towards them hand in hand. “I still worried.”

II

“I don’t want to move to America, papa.” After sharing tea with ‘Uncle Rum’ Jefferson and Grace had gone to his office. Grace had promised not to leave school campus again, and certainly not to hail a cab on her own. Jefferson had promised that if she needed to see him he’d find a way to make it happen, even if it was school hours.

“I know, poppet. But think of what an adventure you and mum will have there.” It killed him inside, to think of it. It killed him just to have his daughter and wife - and she’d always be his wife, not matter what some piece of paper said - on the other side of town rather than the same house. He didn’t know how he was going to survive having an ocean between them.

“I don’t want an adventure. I want you, papa. You and me and mum, just like it used to be.” He had work to do, but Grace was curled up in his lap and he couldn’t think about anything other than trying to soothe her.

“Your mum wasn’t happy, the way things were.” He’d been gone so much, running Gold’s campaign. He’d taken his perfect little family for granted, and the price was all but unbearable. “You want her to be happy, don’t you?” He did. More than anything he wanted her happiness; even if the price of that happiness was his own solitude. 

“She cries sometimes, when she doesn’t know I can see.” Grace played with the buttons on his vest, and did not see the tears in his own eyes. His Alice didn’t deserve a single tear, and especially not ones that he wasn’t there to wipe away. “She misses you too, papa. I know she does.”

“I miss her too.” He didn’t lie to his daughter, not even when it hurt to speak the truth. “But sometimes that’s not enough. The important thing, poppet, is that your mum and I both love you very much.”

“Do you still love mum?” Grace asked, looking up at him.

“Very much.” After all, he didn’t lie to his daughter. “Very much indeed.”

Grace tilted her head to one side, and knew without question that she was just going to have to find a way to get her parents back together. It was Christmas, after all. Magic happened at Christmas time.


	7. Standing In

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re the stand in?” someone asked before she’d taken more than half a dozen steps.

“If you want to work in movies I can get you something better than stand in, Kat. All you had to do was ask.” Her brother sounded hurt. Kathryn leaned against the wall of the lift and took half a breath before answering, She knew he meant well.

“It’s just a temporary thing, sweetie. I picked up a flier at school about it.” She did not mention, of course, that she’d been posing nude at the time for her fellow art students, or that she’d be doing the same for this stand in role.

“If you need money...”

“You pay for my school, Vic. I can handle the rest.” She’d postponed her schooling, while their parents had been ill and her brother had been traveling from concert site to concert site. She knew that paying her tuition was part guilt, but it was also brotherly love so she allowed it in hopes that it made him feel better. 

“It’s just standing around, mostly. Really, nothing could be easier.” She said goodbye as the lift doors opened, and slid the mobile into her bag.

“You’re the stand in?” someone asked before she’d taken more than half a dozen steps.

“I’m a stand in. Kathryn Whale.” She held out her hand for a shake, and instead was handed a Santa Claus jacket, red velvet and white fur trim.

“We’ll need you to stip and put that on. You can keep on your underthings and shoes, but the trousers have to go.” She was pointed to a corner of the room. While she was used to posing nude, she always undressed in the bathroom and came out in a sheet. There was something a little more unsettling about undressing while people were moving around cameras and talking in small groups. In the far end of the room there was a man, dressed in red velvet trousers and black boots. His chest was bare. Her fellow stand in, Kathryn guessed, as she glanced over her shoulder. She changed facing the wall for a little bit of privacy.

“Alright, Kathy, this is Fred.” It was a different person who came to get her this time, when she was stuffing her clothes into her bag. The coat covered more than many of her dresses did, but it still felt strange to be walking around in a coat and knickers. “We’ll be ready for you in a minute.”

“It’s Jim, actually.” The man in the red trousers held out a hand. 

Kathryn smiled as she shook it. “Jim?”

“The woman with the clipboard said I was Fred. It’s actually Jim Fredricks. Mr. Fredricks, to my students. Which you aren’t, of course. You can call me Jim. Or Fred. Or ‘hey you.” He looked down at his feet as he shifted his weight back and forth. Kathryn would feel the nervous energy coming from him.

“I think I like Jim better than ‘hey you.’” Knowing he was nervous made her feel more confident. “I like Kathryn better than Kathy, too. Or Kat, but only my brother calls me that.”

“It’s a pleasure, Kathryn.”

“So you’re a teacher? You did say students, didn’t you?” Someday she was going to be an art teacher, she hoped.

“I do. I am. Elementary School Phys Ed. Not the most glamorous job.” Jim shrugged. “Or the best paying.”

“But important.” She might have said more, but apparently the cameras were ready to run the test shots. Conversation would have to wait until later; they had work to do.

“Fred, you sit in the chair and Kathy, on his left knee please.”

And so it began.


	8. O Christmas Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Your dad loved Christmas. We don’t have to, but I thought, you know, he’d kind of be sad if he thought we weren’t doing the Christmas stuff.”

She let Henry stay home from school, the day after the funeral. It seemed cruel to make the kid go and sit in class when she couldn’t handle going to work. It was also easier to keep herself from crying, knowing he was around the house. She hated crying. They barely spoke, the day after the funeral. It wasn’t much better the next day, and Sunday started out even worse. Sundays had been family day, just the three of them. Emma worked some Saturdays, and Neal, before he’d gotten so sick, had worked others. Sunday was a day that meant pancake breakfasts and doing something as a family, even if in the last months ‘something’ had been staying in pajamas and watching the movies they took turns selecting.

Emma’s mood, when she woke up, was a dark one. Neal had died on Sunday night; it was her first Sunday morning without him. Just thinking about pancakes made her sick to her stomach, but she had responsibilities and a kid to make breakfast for. Not pancakes. She made coffee before looking in the fridge, and figured that eggs was something she couldn’t screw up too badly. The eggs were cold and rubbery by ten, and still Henry hadn’t come downstairs.

“Would it be worse to make him come out of his room, or worse to leave him alone? What is he doing up there all day? I’m screwing this up already, aren’t I?” Her best friend might not have any kids of her own - yet - but being around them all day had to make her more knowledgeable about eleven year olds than Emma was. She hadn’t even wanted to spend time with herself at that age, let alone other kids. “He could be smoking or making plans to meet strangers he’s met on the internet that he thinks are his age but turn out to be forty year old men.”

“You haven’t screwed anything up. He’s just figuring out how to grieve, Emma. You both are.” Mary Margaret’s voice soothed the panic a little. A very little. She didn’t know if she believed in heaven, but if it existed she didn’t want to show up and face Neal knowing that she’d messed up his kid.

“I don’t know how to help him.” How could she help Henry when all she could do was miss Neal and hate the universe for taking him away?

“Maybe you can help each other. It’s Sunday; maybe it would help to keep some of your traditions alive. Do something together,” Mary Margaret counseled.

“Guess that means taking a shower,” Emma said with a sigh, looking down at her pajamas. It occurred to her that she hadn’t taken them off since she’d put them on Friday night. Maybe she and Henry both needed to get out of the house.

II

“Christmas trees?” Henry had only shrugged when she’d told him to get his jacket, that they were going out. The eggs were past the point of being appetizing, so they’d stopped for scones and hot chocolate with cinnamon. Henry had only picked at his food, but he’d finished the chocolate; the fact that it started out as a glass of milk had to count for something, in meeting his nutritional needs. At least that’s how she liked to think of it.

“Your dad loved Christmas. We don’t have to, but I thought, you know, he’d kind of be sad if he thought we weren’t doing the Christmas stuff.” She’d never done much to celebrate the holiday, until Neal. He’d gotten so excited, decorating the tree and setting up a miniature train under it. And shopping, both for Henry and for presents he would tease her about until she was allowed to open them. She’d asked him once, why he loved Christmas so much. He’d told her that it was because he got to give Henry the happy childhood memories that he’d never had as a kid. 

“Yeah, I guess.” Henry’s feet crunched in the snow as he got out of the car. She followed him to the lot, and almost ran over him when he suddenly froze.

“Henry?”

“Not so loud,” he whispered.

Emma was confused. Her own stomach was churning at the sight of the Christmas tree lot; she’d picked a different one from the one they’d visited last year, but still it was a tree lot and she was sharply reminded of stolen kisses between evergreens while Henry was running around to find the ‘perfect’ tree. She could understand if Henry was reminded of his father, but the ‘not so loud’ threw her. Until she saw the girl. “Isn’t that...”

“Can we go now? We don’t need a tree.” Henry’s hand was in hers, tugging her in the direction of the entrance. 

Emma was relieved at the idea of leaving, even though she knew Neal wouldn’t like it. “Sure, kid.”

“Hi Henry.” Their escape came too late, apparently, or at least Emma surmised that was what Henry had been trying to do. He froze, dropped her hand and stepped sideways, and barely looked at the girl who had greeted him.

“Hey Grace.” He half heartedly waved his hand. Considering that Henry usually had better manners than either her or Neal, Emma was surprised that he was almost brushing the girl off. And then she noticed that his cheeks were way pinker than they’d been a minute ago and the moment the girl looked over her shoulder Henry raised his head and looked at her.

Henry had a crush on a girl named Grace. Were eleven year olds supposed to have crushes? Emma didn’t have a clue.

“I need your help. It’s very important.” One moment Henry was at her side, the next the girl had his hand in hers and was pulling him urgently towards the corner of the lot where a boy a few years older than either of them was waiting. There was something familiar about the other boy, though he was obviously too old to share classes with Henry.

“Does he go to school with Grace?” Emma was reluctant to take her eyes off Henry when she wasn’t sure what was going on. At first she only meant to glance at whomever was addressing her. Then she realized that ‘someone’ was a freaking giant. She didn’t even come up to his shoulders.

“Is she your kid?” For all she knew the guy was a stalker, trying to learn more about Grace, Henry, or the third boy. He could be the person she’d imagined Henry talking to over the internet. He could be anyone, and Emma wasn’t just going to tell him things about her kid.

“I don’t have any children, but I’ve taken care of Bae since he was young. Miss Grace’s father works for my employer; I volunteered to help them find the perfect tree.” 

“They don’t seem to be interested in trees.” The three children were still talking, looking so serious that Emma had to wonder if Grace’s ‘very important’ something really was important.

“I suppose getting the trees will be my job, then.” He smiled at the children, his features softening. “It’s good for Bae to spend time with other children. I don’t want to interrupt them.”

“Henry’s not so good at spending time with people his age either,” Emma admitted.

“Perhaps you can help me find two trees, and I can help you find however many you need?” He held a hand out to her. “I’m Dove.”

“Emma.” She shook the hand that completely engulfed her own. “And it’s just one. A small one.”

“I’m sure we can find something just right without letting them out of our view.”

Emma wondered if he made the offer on her behalf, or if it was Bae that he didn’t want to let out of his sight. It didn’t seem to matter. “Thank you, Dove.”


	9. Smiles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She smiled too much.

The woman was crazy. It took less than an hour for Leroy to come to the conclusion that she was odd, and less than twenty-four to decide that she had a screw loose. Or more than one.

For one thing she smiled too much. He might not have heard his own voice for ten years, but he knew that his grumblings about faulty wiring and Moe French’s idiocy weren’t anything to smile about. The rain that wouldn’t stop for two days straight wasn’t something to smile about. The fact that she was a tiny little thing with no business being alone in the woods in a cabin that might lose power at any moment wasn’t anything to smile about either. Astrid - and wasn’t that a weird name - didn’t seem to understand any of that. She smiled at her typewriter. She smiled at the rain outside the window. She smiled at him.

Along with smiling too much, she was too nice. After he’d muttered something about ‘tea is for sissies’ she’d unearthed a battered enamel percolator, and had coffee waiting every morning when he arrived. And she signed her notes with a smiley face. An honest to god little freaking smiley face. The notes for him, that was. Thank you notes. Lists of things that weren’t working. Messages to let him know about the chicken she’d fried the night before that he was welcome to eat for lunch. She’d designated one end of the kitchen table as ‘his’ place, and sometimes there might be three or four notes waiting for him. Three or four smiley faces staring at him, and he’d roll his eyes when her back was turned. It was hard to do it when she was looking, because she’d just smile. Not that he felt guilty or anything.

She was some kind of writer, it seemed, from the pieces of paper he found around the cabin that weren’t meant for him. Silly little stories that he didn’t need to waste his time on. And yet he found it annoying when a piece ended in the middle of a sentence or paragraph. He didn’t care about stupid little romances between faeries and dwarves. Not at all. He just wanted to know if the evil faery got her comeuppance; she was a nasty piece of work. Other than that the only reason he cared about the stories was checking to make sure he wasn’t in any of them. Maybe once in awhile when he was walking home he found himself thinking about the characters, or wondering if there would be anything new the next day, but that was simple curiosity. 

He’d been working on the cabin for a week, replacing steps on the staircase that were close to rotting, when he realized just how crazy she was. He came into the main front room to get something from his toolbox and found that she had his spare hammer out. She was, for some reason, trying to nail the branch of a tree to a piece of firewood.

“What the hell are you doing, sister?” It probably wasn’t possible for her to break his hammer, but it was his, damn it. Her eyes were wide when she turned around. She might have said something, but she also dropped the hammer with enough a ‘thud’ that he felt the vibration. She jumped back, but he was watching her closely enough to see her wince; you couldn’t hide body language from a deaf man.

“I’m not taking you to the hospital if it’s broken,” he grumbled as he dragged a chair over from the table to set it behind her. “Sit.”

“Sit,” he repeated when she mouthed something that looked like ‘fine.’ He had to hold onto her ankle when she tried to pull it away after he took off her shoe. 

“You want your toe to swell up and fall off that’s your business. I can leave right now. If I stay, though, I’m gonna make sure the damned thing isn’t broken.” He knew a thing or two about first aid, from his mining days. A man was a fool if he went that far under the earth without knowing at least the basics of taking care of wounds. He looked up at her, making up him mind that she had thirty seconds to consent or he was out of there. She nodded her agreement in ten, and relaxed the tension in her foot enough that he could peel of her sock. Her toe seemed a little tender, perhaps, but not broken. “It’s fine.”

‘Thank you,’ she said and signed. He ignored both.

“What were you doing with my tools?” he asked instead.

‘I wanted to decorate for Christmas.’ This time, as with every time she wanted to express more than a word or two, she wrote on the pad of paper that she carried with her.

“With firewood and kindling?” He looked over at her little pile. Considering the bruise she’d given herself with the hammer they were lucky she hadn’t done any worse with the nails.

‘I thought it would make a nice little tree. I was going to decorate it.’ She she nodded at the popcorn in the middle of the table he noticed for the first time that it wasn’t a snack. There’s was a needle and thread already half full with the white bits of fluff. 

Definitely crazy. That branch of hers would be a dried out stick within days, and then what? Another twig, or did she just leave the fire hazard up?

“Stay away from my tools,” he said crossly as he took his hammer and the rest of his toolbox with him into the hallway. He stayed away from her the rest of the day, only seeing her once in the kitchen favoring her left foot a little. He didn’t say good-bye when he left.

II

He was as crazy as she was, apparently. That’s what he told himself when he left his cabin an hour early the next morning and stopped to cut down a tree on his way to the French cabin. He hadn’t given a damn about Christmas since well before he’d lost his hearing. He also didn’t care about the woman who thought decorating a twig and smiley faces on notes were clever ideas. And yet he found himself pushing the tree through the front door, grumbling the whole time he set it up. He was earlier than usual; it was the first time since his second day that Astrid wasn’t already up and making coffee for him. She didn’t come down the stairs until he was in the kitchen getting water for the tree.

‘Leroy.’ He barely had time to make out his name on her lips before her arms were wrapped around him tightly. He could feel the rumble of her speaking against his chest, but with her head all but lying on his shoulder he didn’t have a hope of seeing what she said. He didn’t care. For a moment he allowed himself just to enjoy the feeling. Then he stepped back. 

“It’s just a tree,” he said with a shrug. She was smiling again. Always smiling.

‘It’s Christmas,’ she intoned carefully. He wondered if she was always so careful with the way she spoke, or if it was something she’d changed for him, like the notes.

“Bit old to believe in Santa, aren’t you?” He didn’t wait to see what she had to say about that. He had work to do.

And if he paused in his work more often than usual, and peeked into the front room to watch her decorate the tree, well that was his own business. Besides, he had to be sure she wasn’t using his tools.


	10. Breaking the Rule

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby didn’t date people she worked with.

Ruby didn’t date people she worked with. She’d tried it once and had come away from the experience not only swearing off dating co-workers, but also with a great deal of knowledge when it came to recognizing a married man even when he lied about it and didn’t wear a ring. True, the men she did date weren’t much better, but at least when things crashed and burned she didn’t have to see them every day in the halls. It was a good rule. Or rather, it had been a good rule until she’d fallen for Archie Hopper.

Archie was different from other guys. Sure, everyone said things like that when they were in love. Emma would rolls her eyes if Ruby was to try and explain, but it was true. Ruby knew it, and Mary margaret, the only person she’d confided in, had agreed that he was a good guy. She just wished that Archie believed it.

She’d been dropping hints for six months now. Not flirting; in fact she flirted less with Archie than she did with the boys in the mailroom, the doorman at her apartment, or the guy who worked on her car, none of whom interested her. She listened. She ‘accidentally’ ran into him on the rare occasions when he left the building for lunch. She waited until he was close by before opening the box of cookies she’d teased her granny into making; oatmeal raisin was his favorite, and skinny as he was she liked any excuse to get him to eat something.

Six months, and she still didn’t know if he liked her as anything other than a coworker and friend. Sure, he blushed a little when she flattered him, but he did the same thing when his clients ‘overshared’ about their sexual relationships with each other or the affairs they’d had. He was polite, but he even held open doors for Regina, and she was an ice queen to him. He listened to her intently when she talked, but he had a reputation in the office as the person to go to if you needed an ear to bend.

She was about a week away from just asking him on a date; she could always find another job if he said no.

“It’s embarrassing.” 

“What?” Ruby had been so lost in thought that she hadn’t realized Regina had come in to get coffee as well. 

“Three days ago it was the glass door, and now it’s a black eye. Hopper is a grown man and a partner in the firm; it’s embarrassing how clumsy he is.” Regina stirred her coffee with an elegance Ruby couldn’t have imitated even if she wanted to. What the woman lacked in friendliness she made up for in a cold but regal bearing. She was the first person clients met when they came in; Ruby was sure that was at least half the reason Regina had a job still; she wasn’t especially talented and she didn’t try to build relationships with more than a few of her coworkers.

“He’s a brilliant and compassionate lawyer and a good man; I think that’s more important than any embarrassment you might feel.” Ruby usually tried to play nice with everyone, Regina included, but she was too preoccupied with imagining how Archie had gotten a black eye to worry about how her tone might be perceived. She knew not to leave right that moment, not wanting to make herself fodder for the rumor mill, but after a few sips of her coffee and offering the advice that the milk in the fridge smelled a little off she headed for Archie’s office. 

She didn’t have the chance to think of an excuse for her visit before she saw him; glass doors were both a blessing and a curse. The black eye she’d imagined when Regina had spoken was nothing compared to the one Archie actually sported; a deep purple that had his left eyelid partially swollen. “That looks like it hurts.” 

“Ruby.” He’d been prodding the edges of the bruise carefully, not paying attention to his door until she opened it. He quickly tried to cover his eye, and winced when his hand pressed against the bruised and tender skin.

“I hope you put ice on that.” She barely thought about what she was doing, when she approached the desk and sat on the edge in order to get a better look at the eye. She didn’t touch, but she did rest a hand on his shoulder so she could lean in closer. His eye was a little bloodshot as well.

“I did, for an hour last night. I was hoping when I woke up this morning it might not look so obvious.” He sighed softly. “This isn’t going to inspire confidence in the new client that’s coming in two hours.”

“I can’t make it go away, but I can make it less obvious if that will help.” She’d been a champion at hiding hickeys when she was in high school, not that she was about to mention that to Archie.

“Could you really?” He smiled, and it really wasn’t fair how it made her stomach flutter. She was worried about how he’d gotten the black eye, and that seemed more important at the moment than the fact he was adorable and unaware and she wanted to snog him.

“Just let me get my makeup from my bag. I’ll be back in three minutes.” On an impulse she leaned forward a little and brushed her lips against the edge of his bruise before straightening up.

“Aren’t you going to ask me?” he said when she was halfway to the door.

“I’m always here to listen to you, but only if you want to share.” The door swung closed behind her as she walked out, hoping that she’d given him the right answer. Knowing that he wanted to share was more important than hearing his story. She wouldn’t push.

She wouldn’t back away either. Even if he wanted nothing else of her, she would be his friend.


End file.
